Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

Dennis took a sip of his drink and eyed his friend coolly. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” The twinkle of mischief in Luke’s eye betrayed his otherwise stoic appearance, and his lips twisted into a wicked smirk as he answered.

“Because I wrung out the dishrag into your cup.”

There was a snicker from further down the bar, and Dennis caught sight of the overweight man in the sweat suit sneering at him with a snotty expression. Dennis’ right eyebrow crept higher than its twin, and he turned to directly face the man, who let out a hissing laugh from between putrid teeth. Without saying a word, Dennis brought his glass back to his lips. Then, his eyes not leaving those of the piggish man, he drained all of the liquid into his mouth, and grinned evilly.

The man’s neck quivered as he gulped, and the color drained from his face. For a moment, it looked as though he would simply turn back to his drink and ignore Dennis’ obviously deranged expression, but some inner thought seemed to persuade him to do otherwise. He pulled a wad of bills from a pocket, tossed them onto the bar, and then trundled towards the door, staring straight ahead. Luke watched the exit with an expression that was a mixture of satisfaction and irritation.

“So, you’re scaring away my customers now,” he said, turning back to Dennis. “That’s nice.” He stooped beneath the bar, and came up with a blue plastic bucket. “Here. Spit.”

Dennis leaned over the bucket and emptied the contents of his mouth into it. “Yuck,” he said, smacking his lips. “I guess that’s why people don’t order rum-and-wood polish very often.”

“It’s called a Jamaican Lumberjack, actually.” Dennis couldn’t tell if his friend was joking or not, and decided that he really didn’t care either way. Luke emptied the bucket into the nearby sink, lazily washed it, and then returned it to its unseen home beneath the bar.

“Is there any chance of you giving me a real drink?” Dennis asked.

“Fine, I’d say you’ve earned it,” replied Luke. He collected the cash that the fat man had left and stuffed it into the register. “What do you want?”

“Actually,” Dennis murmured, “I think I’d like a root beer.”

Luke dropped his hands to his sides and stared. “Okay, you are going to go sit in a booth now. I’ll be over in a minute.” He disappeared into the back doorway, and returned a moment later with Christina in tow. She retrieved the cloth and resumed wiping down the bar, furrowing her brow as she moved.

“Why is it all wet?” she asked.

“It rained,” Luke replied. He knelt to rummage for something and missed the look of utter bewilderment that his comment brought to Christina’s face.

“Oh.” She continued to stare at one spot on the bar. “That’s weird.” She cocked her head and shrugged, and seconds later was humming again as she mopped up the remainder of the Jamaican Lumberjack.

“I thought I told you to go to a booth!” Luke’s voice barked. Dennis watched as two brown bottles appeared on the bar. He grabbed both of them and moved towards the tavern’s back corner, where he maneuvered into one of the surprisingly spacious alcoves. Luke followed a moment later with a third bottle clutched in his hand, this one sporting the label that marked it as the beer that he brewed. He slid into the seat opposite to Dennis and regarded him with a thoughtful expression.

“Okay,” Luke said. “Spill.”

“I did that already.” Luke rolled his eyes and took a swallow from his beer.

“You know what I mean. You look like shit, and you’re taking it out on everyone.”

“I’m taking my appearance out on everyone?”

Luke made a motion as if to slap him. “Would you stop being so difficult? Seriously, what’s going on?”

Dennis took a sip from one of the bottles in front of him. “Alena caught me with a check for a thousand dollars in my pocket last night. It didn’t go over well.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “Something tells me that it wasn’t a royalty payment.” Dennis shook his head.

“Remember that lady I told you about? The one who called me yesterday?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, the one you thought was an FBI agent or something. What happened?”

“She offered me a thousand dollars a week to help her.”

“What, are you a gigolo now?”

Dennis snorted at the comment. “Let’s just say that she’s pretty serious about getting rid of her ghost problem.”

“I’ve never heard it called that before.” Luke drank some more of his beer, slurping at the lip of the bottle. Dennis leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

“Have you ever tried to research anything about ghosts?” he asked. “It’s bloody impossible. Everyone has something different to say, and nothing has even the slightest basis in reality.” He dropped his hands and looked back at Luke. “I found an article that said that the only way to deal with a ‘marauding spirit’ is to seduce it. There was another claiming that I should bake some kind of almond cake and leave it as an offering.”

“Hey, dude, I’ve had your cooking. That shit would scare off a horde of marauding Vikings, much less spirits.” Luke paused for a few seconds and tapped his fingernail against his drink. “What are you going to do with the money?”

“Nothing, apparently,” Dennis replied. “I told Alena that I would tear up the check.”

“That hardly seems fair,” said Luke, a hesitant tone in his voice. Dennis only shrugged.

“As far as she knows, I’m conning Elspeth.”

“That’s the lady?”

Dennis nodded. “The thing is, I didn’t even want to take the money. She forced me to, more or less.”

“Let me see if I have this right,” Luke said. He folded his hands in front of his face, reminding Dennis of what seemed to be Harding’s default pose. “You got mugged by an old lady who forced you to take a thousand dollars, and now your wife thinks that you should just throw it away?”

“I’m… not sure that